CHAPTER 34
TEMPEST
"I frakking well don't believe it," Eric Lackey exclaimed. He was staring out into space, but he could no longer see the dust cloud that threatened to tear their vessel apart—not with a cylon baseship sitting out there blocking the view.
"What in the name of the gods is Adama thinking? A baseship is overkill; with our engines out, another Heavy Raider could have grappled us and hauled our asses back to New Caprica. Is the bastard trying to intimidate us?"
"The dimensions are wrong," Six murmured. She wasn't simply staring at the baseship that had arrived less than an hour after the Raiders had disabled them. She was studying it.
Six nodded her head decisively, and then turned away. She looked deep into the eyes of her Sagittaron lover.
"Eric, we have very little time before they take us in tow, so listen to me carefully, and do everything that I tell you to do. Do you love me? Do you trust me with your life?"
"Yes," Eric simply replied. His faith in the beautiful, young Cylon who carried his child was absolute.
"This isn't one of Adama's baseships; it's one of the new, super basestars that were scheduled to enter the collective this year."
"Cavil." Eric spat out the word. He didn't need Six to draw him a picture. "We've been captured by the enemy … the real enemy."
"Yes," Six agreed. "And we can't prevent them from pulling up the coordinates for New Caprica unless we destroy our ship. I'll resurrect, but you won't, and neither will the baby. That's a price I'm not willing to pay."
"What's to prevent Cavil from killing us both anyway," Eric asked in return. The bitterness was like an acid that was etching a hole in his throat. They had been so close to making their escape … so close!
"We have to convince the Ones that it is not in their best interest to do so. If we are to succeed, we shall both have to play a role, just like actors on a stage. My part is easy. Even if they force me to enter the stream, all I have to do is give them a slightly modified version of the truth. I was captured, imprisoned, convicted of a crime I've never really understood, then placed on probation. We met, and I pretended to fall in love with you so that you would help me to escape. In time, however, I developed real feelings for you—those of a master for her pet. Now, I want to keep you around because you amuse me, and because you do have your uses … in bed. The Ones will find that easy to believe; they are obsessed with sex."
"Gods on high …"
"I know, I know … it's your part that will be the real challenge. You must pretend to be taken completely by surprise, then become outraged, and finally … betrayed. When they board us, be protective … make it obvious that you love me. Then, when you discover that I've played you for a fool, let your love turn to hate. The more you hate me, the easier it will be for me to persuade the Cavils to keep you alive. They're sadists, and will enjoy watching you suffer."
"That's so sick …"
"It is what it is … we have to work with what we've got. But don't give them the baby, Eric. I'm not showing yet, and I will do everything I can to keep the knowledge out of the stream. The Ones," Six added in a matter-of-fact tone, "will dissect me if they find out the truth."
"That's not going to happen." Eric's tone was equally grim. "At all costs, we keep the baby safe."
Eric swept Six into his arms and kissed her savagely. The universe had become a very strange and dangerous place, but there was one constant, and that was his love for this woman … this cylon. If he had to kill them all, human and cylon alike, to keep her safe, then he would do so without a moment's hesitation.
. . .
"Adama's using Heavy Raiders to patrol the nebula?" Cavil frowned, the alarm bells going off silently inside his brain. He had lost far too many ships not to be suspicious of the bait that was now dangling right in front of him. "Either he's very trusting, or pigs have learned how to fly!"
"It might well be both," Six cautioned. "Mixed crews would promote cooperation between human and cylon, and discourage the distrust that our two species naturally harbor for one another."
"Yeah, well, I don't like it," Cavil snarled. "The ship's probably a flying bomb that'll blow up in our faces as soon as we bring it on board. With our luck, it's probably carrying a fifty megaton nuke."
"The radiological alarm has not sounded, brother." Six was trying to be diplomatic, but as was usually the case, the One's whining was getting on her nerves. "And try looking at it from Adama's point of view. The Heavy Raider is hardened against EMP that would fry the electronics on a Raptor, and its jump range is in a class by itself. It is, in every measurable way, the better vehicle, especially in an environment with so much magnetic flux and gamma radiation."
"I still don't like it," Cavil stubbornly remarked. "I want two full squads of centurions in the hangar bay, just in case …"
"Just in case what, brother? Whoever's flying the ship can't erase the launch coordinates from organic memory, so unless they self-destruct we won't even have to interrogate the pilots. The computer will lead us straight to Adama, and the rest of the humans won't be far away."
"All right, all right … enough, already. I'm looking forward to having a nice, cozy little chat with the frakker who's flying that bird. Our brother or sister has a lot of explaining to do …"
"And if there's a human on board," Six countered, "she's all yours, but he's all mine!"
. . .
Seated in the cramped confines of her stealth Viper, Angela Eight coasted deeper into the rift, on a course that brought her steadily closer to home. Thoughts of home, however, brought her no pleasure. She was coasting in order to avoid detection from the swarm of enemy Raiders that blanketed her course, but there was a limit to how long she could drift.
Angela was on point, scouting the approach to New Caprica for Natalie Six and the small fleet that followed several light minutes behind her. She was not particularly surprised that the Ones had positioned scouts of their own in the rift- indeed, she would have been alarmed if there had been no sign of enemy activity—but she still had no feel for the size of the enemy force, hence could not determine its intent. All she could do was stay on course, avoid contact, and hope that the situation would become clearer before the magnetic storms that buffeted her tiny ship brought her to a complete halt. She still had forward momentum, but it was decreasing by the second, and soon she would have to fire up her engines, either to advance or retreat.
So what are you doing here, she thought out loud. Are you an isolated trip wire meant to snare the unwary, or are you on the perimeter of Cavil's main fleet? When you sound the alarm, will it summon the Ones, or are they already here, readying an invasion of New Caprica?
Angela Eight pushed deeper into the rift. She would maintain her present heading until the last possible moment. If the Cavils had a baseship somewhere ahead of her, she needed to find it, and make the element of surprise work for Natalie rather than against her.
. . .
Lee Adama literally staggered off the Raptor, his knees buckling with fatigue as he boarded Galactica. He was bone weary, and it was not merely overseeing the evacuation exercise and carrying out the tedious but vital review of the settlement's performance that had worn him down. Lee took his responsibilities as National Security Adviser to the President seriously. Given his personality and temperament, he could not do otherwise. It was at all times a big job, but there were occasions when his duties were crushing. Today had been one of them.
Lee looked up, spotted Creusa walking calmly towards him, the huge smile on her lips that sparkled in her eyes, and his fatigue faded like the morning mist in the presence of a rising sun. He had forgotten how beautiful she was—the long, ash blond tresses, the intense blue of her eyes, the finely sculpted features of a face that defined perfection. But it was the joy in her eyes and the eagerness of her smile that engulfed him—that, and the tiny bundle that she was cradling in her arms. Cyrene, his daughter, surely destined to grow up to be the most beautiful woman on this or any other world.
Lee rushed forward and swept his wife and child into his arms. He hugged them both, struggling to find the words, always so inadequate, that would give voice to his feelings. "You have no idea how much I love you," he finally sighed. "I've missed the two of you so much."
"I know," Creusa murmured in return. She hugged Cyrene protectively to her bosom, slightly worried that in his eagerness to embrace them Lee would inadvertently crush the life out of their daughter. She brushed his mouth with a kiss that lingered, and felt the fire in his lips as he reciprocated. It was good to be loved. It was good to be a wife and mother. For a Cylon, everything about life was good.
"Do you want to hold her?" Polyxena had counseled the young Six to ease Apollo gently into fatherhood, and to take nothing for granted. She had stressed how first-time fathers, in their ignorance, often made mistakes with their newborns, and how costly these mistakes could sometimes be. It was readily apparent to both Shelly and Creusa that, in this one area, the teenaged human did not hold either Lee or Bill in high regard.
"Gods, yes," Lee exclaimed. He took Cyrene in his arms, being careful to support her head; he had been paying attention to Xena's lectures. He knew that he still had a lot to learn about fatherhood, but this part at least he could already get right. He was, however, secretly thankful that Creusa was nursing, and that he had largely escaped the terrifying task of diaper changing. The watery green poop that his daughter was expelling reminded him of nothing quite so much as the equally greenish puke that he had been known to vomit after going a few rounds too many with the ambrosia bottle.
Thoughts of Kara Thrace slid perversely through Apollo's susceptible brain. He knew exactly how the irreverent fighter pilot would react to his feeble attempts at parenting. It was a safe bet that Starbuck was more than a thousand light years away, but Apollo swore that he could hear her laughter echoing through the myriad corners of his mind.
. . .
"Welcome home, sister," Six gloated. She was standing at the base of the Heavy Raider's ramp, hands on hips, two centurions flanking her. "Have you enjoyed your time among the humans?" Six made no attempt to keep the malice out of her voice.
"Oh, please," Six retorted as she casually walked down the ramp. "Do you have any idea how bad a human stinks? It's good to be home." She looked casually around the landing bay. "So this is one of our new super basestars. It's impressive … a true monument to the superiority of machine technology."
Six's triumphant smile faded, and a confused look took its place. This was not what she had been expecting.
Six turned around, and looked up the ramp. "Eric? It's okay. You can come out now; we're among friends."
Eric Lackey emerged from the shadows, and stared down at the two Sixes. For all that he could tell them apart, they might as well have been identical twins. He understood now why his beloved had spent the last few minutes drilling code phrases into his dazed brain.
Listen to me, Eric … listen carefully! More than anything else, it was her sense of urgency that had finally got him to focus. The Ones are as paranoid as they are devious. Be prepared for them to send another Six to you. She'll pretend to be me, and she'll pump you for information … try and uncover a lie that will prove me to be a traitor to my species. Don't take anything you see here … or anyone … at face value. Do you remember the candy striped uniform that I was wearing when we first met? Do you remember the taste of our first kiss? I won't volunteer such details, so you must use them to distinguish me from the other copies. Don't deviate from the script, and don't let your guard down; if they catch me in a lie, they'll kill us both. . . .
Eric forced himself to put one foot in front of another, but walking down the ramp seemed to take forever. And the look on the Six's face … he was a Sagittaron, and he had seen that look far too often in his young life. Anticipation mixed with cruelty- it was the look of an exceedingly dangerous predator. The foot soldiers in the underworld of the Brotherhood had mastered that look generations before.
A shiver went down his spine. Eric Lackey felt like dinner was about to be served, and he was the main course.
. . .
"What have you learned," Hiris snapped.
"Nothing that we didn't already know." Dino Panyattes shrugged, as if the answer to the Six's question was obvious. "The Sons of Ares took her. Carlotti isn't even bothering to deny it; he wants us to know that he's got Anthia, and that there's nothing we can do about it. And for the moment at least, he's right: Enzo's got a hundred dives at his disposal, and our people haven't been able to locate her. Your sister has gone off the grid."
"Frak! He'll torture her, but not to the point of death—he's smart enough to understand resurrection tech. Her only escape will be madness."
It was every Six's fear—Shelly Godfrey's enduring legacy. Every copy knew what would happen if they fell into Cavil's hands, but Anthia was paying the price for sheltering Shevon and dozens of other human females who daily walked the streets in search of customers. Anthia had prevented the Sons of Ares from monopolizing the prostitution racket on New Caprica, which worked to the advantage of the Ha'la'tha, but she was now paying a steep price for her benevolence.
"Let's send Carlotti a message," the Six decreed. "Get our girls off the streets, and then grab ten of his. Put them in the holding cell on Prometheus, and then pass the word. Release Anthia, or we start to play rough … really, really rough."
. . .
He's young, good looking … it will be fun training him to serve me …
Six looked at the human, and shivered with delight. This Eric Lackey was no Lee Adama, but he would do nicely for an appetizer. Besides, Six thought, I need to refine my techniques before I take on Apollo. This specimen will give me a chance to practice … to find out what works on a human, and what doesn't. . . .
Six nodded to the centurion standing to her right. The machine clanked up the ramp, and disappeared into the Heavy Raider's shadowy interior. It would retrieve the coordinates for the planet on which the humans had taken refuge, and with that the final assault could begin.
. . .
"Frak!" Angela Eight was cursing under her breath, a steady stream of all too human curses that would have done any Viper pilot proud. She had allowed her stealth craft to drift deeper into the rift before finally lighting up her engines just long enough to alter her course. Given the risk of detection, this had been a desperate gamble, but going dead in space would have been worse yet. Somehow, she had got away with it, and now she was hugging the perimeter of an asteroid belt that had been charted months earlier. It was less than a light year from New Caprica.
Enemy Raider traffic had been steadily increasing over the last few minutes, and it was all flowing in the same direction—all flowing towards the planet. It was clear that the Ones had found their new home world, and that an all-out attack was imminent.
Looking up through the top of her canopy, Angela watched the procession like a spectator at a parade. Three baseships, a resurrection ship, and thousands of Raiders were advancing at an unhurried, almost majestic pace.
And there was nothing that Angela could do about it.
"Frak," she cursed anew. She needed to spin up her engines and report back to the fleet—but would her heat signature escape detection a second time? No one, she decided, could be that lucky. The risk was simply too great, and if they spotted her, it would be just like the Cavils to set a trap and wait for Natalie recklessly to advance in a last-ditch effort to save the planet. They could destroy her fleet first, and then take New Caprica at their leisure.
Angela kept her fists in her lap … well away from the controls. Leading their ships into an ambush wouldn't help Adama in the slightest, and so she did nothing—well, almost nothing.
Sitting there, unable to do anything that would alter the now inexorable march of events, Angela Eight watched the parade pass by, and she continued to curse, the invective becoming more and more colorful, and increasingly inventive.
. . .
"Brother," Six said, "we have recovered the coordinates. We know the precise location of this planet that the humans have dubbed New Caprica. And we owe our good fortune to my sister here." Six elegantly swept her hand in Six's direction. "She has played the humans for fools, with this young man being the biggest fool of them all!"
"What? Six, what the frak is she talking about?" Six had brought her captives to the control room; she figured that Cavil would want to look them over and weigh Six's strange but entirely plausible tale for himself.
Eric was scared out of his wits. He was pale, and he could not stop shaking. He had never been so afraid in his life, and now he was trying to turn fear into outrage. The way the One was looking at him, sizing him up … Six was right. Both of their lives were now hanging in the balance. Outrage … raw, blistering anger … the thunderous crash of all his hopes in an avalanche of betrayal … he had to get this right, had to turn in an award winning performance, or they were both dead.
"Six," he repeated, his tone pleading, still hopeful, but increasingly confused. Cavil read the desperation in his eyes, saw the way the door was opening in his mind, the dawning thought that Six was right, and that from the very beginning he had been manipulated by an unfeeling machine.
The One shifted his attention to his younger sister. He was not about to take her at face value; there had been too many betrayals, and it was distinctly possible that she was a stalking horse, her pretty tale a fabrication designed to lure him into yet another trap. He had badly underestimated the human capacity for deception … or was the Abomination alone responsible for the string of unexpected defeats that his forces had suffered over the past months? If Six was working for Bierns, he would make her regret the day that she had come out of the crèche.
"Let's hear it," he impatiently commanded.
"On Caprica," Six began, "I was one of those in charge of the breeding program. When we left the system, I continued to monitor the human females on the Hippolyte; it was there that the humans captured me. They put me on trial for something called 'crimes against humanity', and of course I was convicted. Rather than box me, they sentenced me to perform what they call 'community service'. I had to report every day to a hospital, and nurse their sick. It was disgusting!" Six's face screwed up; her loathing for everything human was now abundantly clear. "Brother," she continued, "you have no idea. Even a healthy human stinks, but there is no word to describe the stench that comes off the sick ones. There were times when I would have welcomed being boxed. Oblivion would have been better by far than the living Hell to which they had condemned me. And then I met Eric. . . ."
Cavil glanced at the human prisoner. He was staring at the Six, disbelief etched on his face. Clearly, the human didn't credit a word that Six was saying . . .
"Go on," he urged. The human's reaction was … interesting.
"Eric had been hospitalized with one of their many diseases, but he was well on the way to recovery …"
Six paused. She wanted to give the Ones enough detail for her story to pass muster, but not so much that they could start to poke holes in it. And it bothered her that they had brought Eric to the control room. Had the Ones learned nothing from the humans? Why had they not been separated? Why were they allowing him to hear her version of events? None of it made sense.
"Look," she continued, "I don't want to bore you with the details. Caprica Six was encouraging me to take a human mate, and Eric was obviously interested. He's very good looking, but he's also quite submissive … the ideal human pet …"
"Oh, give me a break," Eric growled. "You were in heat from the moment we met. I didn't exactly have to beg you to crawl into my bed!"
"No, that's true," Six rejoined. "I like sex, and you are good looking, but it was very easy to seduce you. Really, it was no trouble at all."
"Of course not; you're gorgeous, and I freely admit that that starched white uniform of yours really turned me on. Big deal … I've always had a thing for nurses. As fetishes go, it's pretty harmless."
Hmm, Six mused, I have underestimated this human. He has more to teach me than I realized. I must learn about these fetishes. Perhaps Lee has one that I can use to enslave him …
"Eric and I mated," Six went on; "and after the Sagittaron uprising was crushed, we decided to flee into the wilderness and take our chances. When Caprica Six sent centurions out to hunt us down, I saw my chance. I persuaded Eric to double back to the settlement. We stole a Heavy Raider, loaded it with as many supplies as we could scavenge … and here we are."
"Yes," Cavil murmured in a voice almost too low to hear, "about those supplies. For refugees fleeing in the dead of night, your ship is very well supplied. Did you have a particular destination in mind?" The One's eyes had taken on a very dangerous gleam. He was now convinced that this was a trap. Adama should have sent the Six out with next to nothing … that would have been believable.
"Kobol," Six replied without hesitation. "It's the only other habitable planet out there, so it was the logical place to wait for you to show up."
"Your good fortune astounds me," Cavil sarcastically retorted. "A Heavy Raider just waiting for you to pop up and steal it … food and water in abundance … yes, you've done very well."
"Hey, it's called improvisation," Eric proudly cut in, "and we Sagittarons are damn good at it." This part was easy: tell the truth, brag about how smart he'd been, and take most of the credit. "Six had to break an Eight's neck to steal the ship, and one fine night we started a fire in a warehouse. While everyone was stumbling around trying to put out the blaze, we broke into another warehouse and stole our water barrels. Food … that was no problem … you ever heard of hunting? Fishing? Gathering? We survived because your sister here was smart enough to do what I told her, no questions asked. Left to her own devices," he added dismissively, "she would have starved to death inside a week."
"Tell us about this Sagittaron uprising," Six interrupted. "What happened?"
"The other colonies have discriminated against us from the very beginning, so when the Mellorak sickness broke out and a few of us ended up in hospital, Baltar and his buddies decided to isolate the whole Sagittaron population … probably hoped that the disease would kill us all off and solve their Sagittaron problem once and for all ..."
"We heard gunfire," Six interjected, "but we don't know who started it. In the end, it hardly mattered; Adama's marines slaughtered everyone in their path. Eric may well be one of the few remaining Sagittarons."
"What are you thinking, Six?" Cavil looked at his sister, who was frowning and obviously deep in thought.
"If there are other Sagittarons still out there," the devious blond slowly replied, "they should welcome us as liberators. Perhaps one of them would be willing to serve as President … though of course he would need our support in order to govern effectively. A formal treaty … a request that we supply military assistance … I sense real possibilities here."
"Tom Zarek is currently Vice-President," Eric grinned knowingly. He wanted to hug the Six, who appeared to have fallen for their story hook, line and sinker. Surviving this day no longer looked like an exercise in wishful thinking.
"So what," Cavil snarled; he couldn't believe that his brothers were falling for this crap, but looking around the control room, it was obvious that the other Ones did not share his suspicions.
"He's a Sagittaron freedom fighter who spent twenty years in a maximum security prison defending his ideals …"
"He blew up a government building and got caught," Six translated. She wanted to hug Eric; her lover had certainly risen to the occasion.
"The point is that Zarek's ambitious," Eric stressed; "and he knows how to nurse a grudge. He hates Capricans in general and people like Adama and Roslin in particular. Put him in power and the influential types you should really fear are going to start disappearing …"
"Excellent," Six clapped; "this is going to turn out far better than I had expected."
"I hate to bore you with petty details, Six, but don't you think we should conquer the mud ball before we start governing it?" Cavil threw his hands into the air in disgust; he sensed another disaster in the making.
"It always helps to have a game plan before you take to the Pyramid court," Eric suggested helpfully.
"Enough, already!" Now Cavil was staring up at the ceiling in a truly noble attempt to keep his temper in check. For a brief moment, he thought about killing the human, but he somehow managed to resist the impulse. He'll have his uses; the One kept telling himself … he'll have his uses . . . .
"Six," he ordered, "entertain this human. "As for you, Six, there's a Three on board that I'd like you to meet; I'll take you to her myself. When I get back," he admonished the other Ones, "we'll kick this project into gear!"
As she walked away, Six suddenly paused, turned around, and looked back at the man she loved so completely.
"I should thank you, Eric; without your assistance, it would have been impossible for me to escape and make my way home. Although there were times when I had to hold my nose, on the whole you were sufficiently creative to make my time with you tolerable. With proper training, which I intend to administer, you will become fit to kneel before me."
"Only if you're on your back with your legs spread, begging for it," Eric fired back. "Otherwise, you can kiss my Sagittaron ass! Bitch!"
Six's eyes narrowed. "Sister," she angrily replied, "While I am engaged with the Three, I would like you to begin his training. Do whatever you think necessary to insure his compliance with our wishes. I want my slaves to obey without question, and I will no longer tolerate such back talk. And speaking of asses … mark him!"
Six turned away without another word. She left the control room with her head held high. She did not want Cavil to see the tears that threatened to stain her cheek.
. . .
"Something's wrong," Natalie declared; "Angela has failed to report in, and she's badly overdue. This isn't like her at all."
"Should we send out a Raider to investigate," Hoshi queried. He shared the Six's sense of unease. The Eight was far and away their best pilot, as responsible as she was reliable. It was not like her to miss the deadline for a rendezvous.
"Just one," Natalie decided. "If the Ones have stationed Raiders of their own in this rift, I don't want to set off their detection grid."
"Angela won't give up our position," Racetrack declared. The entire senior staff was gathered in the baseship's control center. "But you're right … enemy contact is the most likely explanation for her failure to report."
"I'm going to order the fleet to come to a halt," Natalie said. "We'll maintain our present position until we have a clearer sense of what's going on."
At the far end of the room, the pair of Sixes who had been serving as Natalie's tactical officers since the battle over Caprica entered the stream. A moment later, a lone Raider dropped out of its aerie and accelerated away.
"Can we jump to New Caprica," Bierns finally asked. After his recent confrontation with Natalie, in an effort to be more diplomatic he had chosen to steer clear of what had so far been a purely tactical discussion.
"No … no, we're still too far out." Leoben was also in the stream, and he had put the question directly to their hybrid. "We can't lock in the coordinates at this distance because of the magnetic storms. We have to get closer, and until we find out what's happened to the Eight, jumping deeper into the rift would be unwise."
"So, we sit," Natalie declared. "I don't like it any more than you do, John, but we send out scouts for a reason, and when they don't report back we assume the worst."
. . .
Sharon wrapped her arms tightly around Philista's waist, and gently kissed the nape of her wife's neck.
"Mmm," Philista purred; "that feels good." She closed her eyes, and the tension flowed out of her body. It had been a hectic morning; Marc had left the house shortly after dawn to get an early start on a construction project, but the evacuation drill had caught Sharon and Philista in bed. They were still picking up the pieces after Philista's miscarriage, and the alert had sounded at the worst possible moment. Grumbling about the unfairness of it all, the pair had hastily dressed, holstered their weapons, and fled into the forest. They did not, however, have far to go; Sharon Agathon, who was their team leader, had cached an impressive array of armaments eight hundred meters in. Heavy assault rifles … explosive rounds for their handguns … grenades—everything that a guerilla force would need to stand a chance in combat against the centurions was waiting in a nondescript shed deep in the woods.
Philista knew that there were scores of weapons depots scattered around the perimeter of the settlement, and rumor had it that Lee Adama had built up an entire army of centurions somewhere out in the wilderness. If the Cavils ever showed up looking for a fight, the people of New Caprica would give them one.
"Did you like breakfast," Sharon inquired. When the all clear had sounded, she had insisted that Philista go back to bed while she busied herself in the kitchen. Sharon was working hard to repair the damage that she had unwittingly inflicted upon their relationship; on a practical level, this meant that she was doing everything that she could think of to please her mate. She simply did not know what else to do.
"It was wonderful," Philista acknowledged … but this is infinitely better." Sharon's tongue was magic, and the Eight was slowly but methodically working her way down Philista's back. Eventually, she would reach one particular spot at the base of Philista's spine, which would set off a fire so intense that it threatened to consume her. But Sharon would never relent: her tongue would continue its journey of exploration through the canyons between Philista's thighs. When the young human finally came, she knew that it would feel as if her legs had melted completely away.
. . .
"I don't understand."
Six had no idea what Cavil expected her to say. Nor did she understand why he had brought her here.
The chamber was featureless—one of the innumerable, anonymous warrens to be found on any cylon ship. There was no furniture, but it wasn't empty.
Six stared down at the Three and the Eight. For one terrifying moment, she was convinced that she had tumbled into the Sisyphean depths of Hades, and that she would never find the way out. The Three was lying on the floor, her back pressed hard into the wall, her legs, equally stiff, all but glued to the deck. She was heavily chained, and her body was a sea of welts, bruises, and dried blood. Her left eye was blackened, and her upper lip was badly swollen. It was obvious that she had been tortured.
Despite her manacles, the Three was cradling the Eight against her shoulder. The Eight was unmarked, but her eyes were devoid of life, and she was drooling.
The stench of urine and feces was overwhelming.
"How does it compare with that hospital of yours," Cavil asked; "the smell, I mean?"
"This is worse," Six whispered; "this is so much worse than anything I experienced on New Caprica. What … what is wrong with the Eight?"
"She was obsessing over a human who wasn't interested," Cavil shrugged. "She couldn't handle rejection, and the end result was a first in the collective's history—a nervous breakdown. We had to simplify her programming. Think of it," he leered, "as the cylon equivalent of a lobotomy."
"Of course, he's lying," the Three quietly lisped. "He's stolen her intellect but increased her sex drive … turned her into a baby machine. She's the prototype for an entire generation of Eights—mindless drones who will sleep with any human male in order to become pregnant. The hybrid children will be tested … culled … with the best and brightest condemned to replace the current hybrids in some future generation of baseships. Cylon logic combined with human intuition … it should shave precious seconds off response times in whatever war the Ones are planning next. Of course, they're insane."
"Pardon my lack of manners," Cavil jovially responded. Seeing the Three in this humiliating state never failed to lift his spirits. "Six," he said, "this … this … is D'Anna! You might want to get her autograph because this is not your ordinary, humdrum, run-of-the-mill Three … oh, no, no, no. This is the first Three … the eldest of all the cylon daughters! And speaking of hybrids, D'Anna was also the first cylon to give birth. Perhaps you've met her son …"
"Major Bierns … the First Born … you're his birth mother?" Six was awed. This Three must have known the Makers … must have spoken with them! Meeting her was little short of meeting God.
"Made his acquaintance, have you," Cavil rhetorically asked. "I'll bet that was fun!"
Six shivered. She couldn't help herself.
"He interrogated me on Galactica … and no, it certainly wasn't fun. It was frightening. His eyes … they're so strange … so … so … inhuman. He's supposed to be part centurion. I believe it."
"His one redeeming feature," Cavil chuckled. "Alas," he sighed theatrically, "in all other respects he's been a terrible disappointment."
"My son is a thorn in One's side," D'Anna crowed. "He has carried out the commands that I implanted deep within his unborn mind, and made peace between man and machine."
"You did what?" Six was genuinely startled. "I don't understand. Why are we at war with the humans if there is supposed to be peace between us?"
"Call it a philosophical disagreement," Cavil glowered. He didn't like to have his nose rubbed in the Abomination's successes, which were ultimately a testament to his mother's iron will—and to the fact that she had outwitted him.
"Look, I have a war to fight," Cavil said as he turned to leave. Two centurions had suddenly appeared in the hatchway. "D'Anna, why don't you entertain our sister, here—fill her head with more of your lies. Take your time, because Six isn't going anywhere. These centurions will see to it."
"What is this, brother?" Six feigned outrage. "I didn't go to all the trouble of escaping only to be imprisoned by my own kind …"
"Then pray to that god of yours that your story checks out because if it doesn't … you and Three will be sharing more than this cell!"
. . .
"Dad, I have a problem and I can't get a handle on it. I need your help."
Apollo collapsed onto the couch in the Admiral's quarters.
Bill looked around at what had once been his personal space. The crib on the opposite side of the desk offered mute testimony to how much his life had changed since that first day, when Shelly Godfrey had sat exactly where his son was sitting now.
"Son, I hope you're not looking for parental advice," Bill deadpanned. "Rumor has it that I've been a miserable failure as a father."
"It wasn't for lack of trying," Lee quipped. "I've never met anyone who worked as hard as you did to be a miserable failure. You turned failure into an art form!"
"Just a slow learner, I guess." Bill took off his glasses and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Third time's supposed to be the charm; maybe this time I'll get it right."
"At the very least, Xena will make sure that you don't do irreparable harm. Mom could have used someone like her after Zak was born."
"Yeah, your mom needed all the help she could get." Bill was thinking about the alcohol; in his absence, the bottle had become Carolanne's best friend.
"So, what's the problem?"
"The evacuation drill went well, except at the top. With two pregnant wives in tow, our esteemed President can't get to his bunker fast enough to avoid capture. I'm assuming, of course, that the Ones have identified Colonial One, and made it a high value target."
"That's a pretty safe bet, son—and Sharon and Tory aren't going to run any faster until their babies are born. So, you have to change the equation."
"How?"
"I see two possibilities. The first would be to move the seat of government to a more secure location."
"Baltar won't go for it. He'll never admit it, but it's a matter of ego. Laura Roslin governed the fleet from behind that desk, and gods only know how many times Gaius sat across from her. In his mind, Colonial One is the presidency."
"He might like the alternative even less."
"Which is?"
"The next time you conduct an exercise, leave the women behind. Baltar's not pregnant … he can move fast enough."
"Frak!"
"If you put it to him bluntly enough, perhaps he'll agree to shift his harem to a more secure location."
Lee climbed to his feet. "I need to get back to the surface," he concluded. "I'll run both of your suggestions by the President; we'll see what he says."
"Will you be coming back up later?"
Lee nodded. "Creusa wants to stay on Galactica … to help Shelly. I'll try and make it back for dinner."
Bill reached out to grip Lee's shoulders, stared into his eyes, and then on impulse hugged him close.
"It's good to see you again, son. Don't be a stranger."
'I won't, dad." Apollo hugged his father in return. "Not that Callista and Cyrene are going to give us much choice!"
. . .
"You should not have insulted my sister in front of the others," Six warned. "Such behavior cannot go unpunished."
"Yeah, well, for all I care, the bitch can go frak herself. And while I'm at it … screw you!"
Six lashed out with her right hand, slapping Eric hard enough to send him reeling two or three steps backward.
"Take off your clothes," she ordered; "all of them."
"Get stuffed, bitch."
"Would you prefer the centurions to do it for you?" There were two of them in the chamber, their malevolent red eyes fixed on the human.
Reluctantly, Eric began to disrobe. He took his time, but in the end he was completely naked.
"Take him," Six instructed the centurions. "Hold his arms out to the side, but don't crush or dislocate the bones."
Once Eric was suitably helpless, Six removed a piece of stiff cable from her pocket, and shoved it in his face. "My sister said to mark you, but she didn't say how severely. I was going to let you off easy, but I can see now that that would have been a mistake. You need to learn obedience if you are to serve us properly."
Six disappeared behind him, and a moment later his buttocks exploded with pain. It felt as if the cylon had touched him with a red-hot poker.
"Frak," Eric whispered through gritted teeth. He was determined not to scream, but above all, not to beg.
Two more strokes followed in short order.
"These welts are quite impressive," Six commented as she stepped back to survey her handiwork. "I wonder what it will take to make them bleed?"
She lashed out again, and was pleased to see blood begin to ooze out of one of the angry red lines that would permanently scar the foolish young man.
"Is this all you've got," Eric mockingly laughed. "My mother whipped me harder than this—two or three times a week, for years. You're a pussy."
The infuriated Six struck Eric again, and again. Somewhere in the haze of pain that slowly overwhelmed him, he passed out.
. . .
When Eric regained consciousness, he felt a cold weight draped around his neck. He ran his fingers over its smooth surface.
"We call that an obedience collar. It has an electrode that is embedded in your central nervous system, at the base of the medulla oblongata. This device controls the duration and intensity of the pain that you will receive." She opened her hand to show him the small controller resting in her palm.
"Allow me to demonstrate."
This time, Eric screamed.
. . .
"Have you loaded the activation program," Cavil asked one of his brothers when he returned to the control room.
"It's done," Cavil responded. "However, I propose that we send six Raiders, not three. One group will target the ships in orbit, the other will pass directly over the main settlement."
"Do it," Cavil ordered.
. . .
"DRADIS contact," Dionysia shouted. "Three Raiders traversing the fleet, and they're not ours!" Six's station had been quiet for so long that the bogies had taken her completely by surprise.
"Admiral," Dualla cut in, "they're emitting high frequency bursts … a transmission of some kind."
"A transmission," Adama repeated. He looked dumbly at Sonya Six. "Who the hell is on the receiving end?"
The XO shook her head. She was as mystified as the admiral.
"Three more Raiders have just entered the upper atmosphere; course and trajectory suggest that they are targeting the settlement."
"Admiral," Amy called out, "the baseship is powering up its missile batteries …"
"Good," Adama grunted. "XO, set Condition One throughout the ship. Dee, open a scrambled channel to Colonial One; flash traffic for Lee … Billy … whoever responds. Traffic reads: CYLON ATTACK IMMINENT. THIS IS NO DRILL. REPEAT THIS IS NO DRILL.